Just For Today, We Are Here!

Opportunity.  What a brilliant word. It is filled with such promise.

I read a quote this morning that has since stayed with me.  It reverberates in my mind.  I hear its echo throughout my day, taunting me, nudging me, reminding me.  It is this:

"Just for today, we are here. We are alive. And with that aliveness comes a profound responsibility to do what we can. To make meaning and beauty out of what is." ― Dani Shapiro
 
It may not mean that tomorrow we are someplace else, or that we are not alive. 

But it may.

Who ever really knows what is around the corner?

Then all the more reason to drink in the moment.  Take advantage of where we are, and whom we're with, and what is on our plate.

Perhaps its significance is more haunting because of the hints of change. Can you deny that change isn't prevalent in all of our lives in one way or another?  Our lives are constantly affected by for sale signs, doctors' diagnoses, graduations, job changes, births.  And deaths.

The challenge then lies in making meaning and beauty out of whatever state we are in. The challenge lies in living large, and drinking in the fresh sea air, and snapping a million pictures of an ever changing ocean because opportunities that are here today may be gone tomorrow.

And when our circumstances change, we embrace the newness with whatever courage is called for.

Again.

And again. 

Playing with Glass: Breaking Through Parameters

With any new endeavor comes the trial period.  We ask ourselves, what is possible?  What are the limitations?  What has been done?  What hasn't been done? For years I have explored the possibilities of papercrafting, surprising even myself at the wide range of paper's potential.  I love when others marvel at what can be unexpectedly created with "just paper."

I have begun exploring another medium, called Glass Fusion.  It is the art of combining random pieces of colored glass which will then be fused together in a high-temperature kiln to become a functional, decorative piece.  This, too, appears rather limiting; but as I play with the possibilities I am finding that one is really only bound by the preconceived ideas of what those parameters are. The sky is beginning to seem like the only limit.  When one isn't afraid to imagine more, then more becomes possible.

I fear that, too often, we put restrictive parameters on ourselves in other facets of our lives.  We imagine preset boundaries that we convince ourselves are unyielding.

     "I can't do this because . . ."
     "I'll never become . . ." what?
     "I haven't the talent to . . ."

Hogwash.  Where are these restrictions coming from?  Most likely from our own fear, hesitation, lack of vison and imagination.

My friends at Mor-Art in Lincoln City are so helpful and encouraging.  They have convinced me that anything is possible and willingly offer suggestions on how to make my ideas and visions become a reality.

Where paper may seem too weak and two-dimensional, and glass may seem too rigid and unmaleable--incredible things can be created, stretching the limits of the expected.  And that is very gratifying.

Finding Fingerprints

They are easy to miss.  When we live our lives thinking that we, alone, are in control of the outcome, it becomes easy to miss the fingerprints.

The fingerprints are everywhere.  The evidences of God's hand in our lives are noticeable, but only as we allow ourselves the time, the meditation, the stillness, the humility necessary to discern them.  It also becomes critical to relinquish a little control, to be willing to be guided by One much wiser than ourselves.

The past month has been unique for me, filled with monumental moments, pivotal once-in-a-lifetime experiences; and thankfully, God's fingerprints were very evident throughout the whole journey.  In our moments of sorrow, He was there.  In our moments of joy, He also had a hand in our lives.  He brought strength, comfort, peace, insight, stamina, reassurance, and hope.  I am certain that these were all direct blessings from a loving Heavenly Father and His Son.

Thank you.

All Are Needed By Each One

When is one at their best? Why, when they are in their element, of course.

What does it mean, then, to be in one's element?  When are you in your element?  When am I in mine?

What brings out the best in you?  What would you describe as your ultimate circumstances, your most favorable light, your best accoutrements?

Have you ever filled your pockets with treasures, beautiful rocks that sparkled in a river bed, or iridescent seashells found glimmering among the seaweed, only to bring them home and find that they have somehow lost their charm? When no longer in their element, their value appears to have fled.

I often feel like that drab little pebble which was beautiful amid the interplay of sunlight and water, yet quickly becomes dreary and common and no more worthy than to be cast aside.

Ralph Waldo Emerson discusses this theme in a poem, entitled Each and All.  The following is an excerpt:

All are needed by each one;
Nothing is fair or good alone.
...
The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me.
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
I fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.


I think I am in my element when I am in active roles as mother and grandmother. That is when I shine. I delight in delighting those around me, in meeting their needs, in bringing smiles and happy tummies and comfort and contentment. To paraphrase Browning, Children in the House, All's right with the World.

My personal challenge lies in finding other times and ways to sparkle.  Perhaps being in our element isn't possible all the time, and indeed, may become old and weathered if it is too commonplace. 

In looking toward our Savior, Jesus Christ for an example, we find that He was always in His element.  He showed love and forgiveness and hope and encouragement and patience and kindness, and while doing so, radiated a heavenly light that never dimmed, never faded, never became dull nor drab nor dreary.

I know my independent, adult children really are living their lives as outstanding, productive young people, making good decisions and working hard to become educated and to support themselves.  I couldn't be more proud.  But I am also thankful that in some way, I believe, they will always need me. 

As I will always need them.

They make me sparkle.

"All are needed by each one;
Nothing is fair or good alone."

Turning Hearts

I love the scripture that speaks of the prophet Elijah turning the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers.  I get it.  I feel it.  I believe it.  Family connections should be foremost in our lives and should be our greatest source of happiness and strength.

Mine are.  I am overwhelmed with the gratitude I feel toward my family.  My parents have given me a legacy of love and faith, and I am trying to pass that along to the next generations.  It's my job.  And I take it seriously.

My energies are spent in bringing this bunch together as often as I can.  We have a lot of fun and look forward to our little circle expanding exponentially.

Thanks for the joy.

Making His Presence Known

They come by the boatloads.  Everyday.  They purchase a ticket with high hopes of seeing striking aerial acrobatics by behemoths of the deep.  Following sonar equipment, these boatloads position themselves directly out my window, as they wait to catch a glimpse of a whale. Surveying the surface for a telltale spout, the lucky few spot additional evidence of these mythical giants, the gray hump of a back, or sometimes a tail.

While migratory seasons bring increased activity, we are privileged to have a pod that remains year-round in the cool, inviting waters off the Oregon Coast.  I'm not convinced that these whale watchers, for their ticket, really get any better show than I do; I, who am dry and warm and cozy behind expansive windows that yield an unparalleled view.  A telescopic lens doesn't hurt either.

In contemplating the big deep, which stretches endlessly past the visible horizon, which contains otherworldly creatures, which for centuries has issued its sirens' song to the adventurous bidding them to come, explore, and discover; I marvel at its power; I marvel at the gifts it generously gives;  I marvel at its beauty, which is ever changing and ever the same.

I marvel every time I am fortunate enough to spend some time at the beach.

Special Agents of the O.E.M.

They burst upon the scene in their Preparation Day clothes.  They overflow with energy, with enthusiasm, with child-like wonder.  They have a well-earned day off to relax, to kick off their walking shoes, and to let their hair down a little.  They are eager for coastal diversions and some clam chowder at Mo's.

Their zealous Zone Leaders have envisioned the perfect zone photograph, and all have come prepared with their special baptismal clothing.  Suddenly this rowdy, boisterous group transforms into the humble servants that they are, radiating the spirit of who they really are and who they represent.

Then with the same energy and eagerness of before, they run out the door, full speed, to accomplish their mission of the day.

From my perch above, I begin to see specks of white on the sand below.  More follow, and just as the night sky fills with light one by one, soon the beach is filled with white stars.

In short order, the chaos organizes itself, and pays tribute to the "Best Mission in the World":  The Oregon Eugene Mission.  It was a singularly special event, one I felt privileged to be apart of.  Thank you for sharing your spirit and your light with us.

The Personalities of a House

It embraces a crowd with ease.  It offers sanctuary to a family that wants to escape the chaos of the world.  It envelops a solitary inhabitant with peace and quiet.  It has become my home away from home where I can read, write, meditate, entertain, dream, and spoil my family and friends.

I used to feel like just a guest, albeit a very welcomed guest.  When I would drive up to our beach home, I felt a little like an outsider that was treading on foreign territory.  I used to feel like I was trespassing, or merely pretending to belong.

Not any more.  As I drive up Coast Avenue to the lovely peach and beige home at the top of the hill, now I feel like it is just an extension of of my family, of myself.  It is now just the other place that I live.

Do I still pinch myself once in while to make sure I'm not just dreaming?  Absolutely!

Just For the Fun of It!

Have you ever done something just for the fun of it?  For no real purpose other than to just gather with friends for good conversation, good food, and good fun?  This past weekend my husband and I did exactly that.  We hosted what we called a "Black and White @ the Beach" Party. 

I am finding that often in our lives we go from one requirement to the next; crossing off all the things that must be done while neglecting the seemingly superfluous things. My friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson reminds us that there is a need to make extra time for what he calls the "best property of all":

     "We take care of our health, we lay up money, we make our room tight, and our clothing sufficient; but who provides wisely that he shall not be wanting in the best property of all--friends?"

That is what we did this weekend.  We sought to take care of what we feel is as important as our health, as critical as our livelihood, and as valued as our family; we sought to nurture our friendships.

It was an opportunity to show them how much they mean to us, to spoil them a little, and to thank them for their involvement in our lives.

We couldn't feel more blessed to call them our friends.

Wait for iiiiiiiiit! ( The Perfect Wave or the Pounding)

Having had the opportunity recently to watch at length the behavior of surfers, I have observed a few consistent patterns.  One is that many of them are as children, understanding the innate joy of play.  Putting the cares of the world aside, they head into the pounding surf, ready to take on the unpredictable nature of the waves.  This purposeful vulnerability must bring a reminder that life is short, youth is fleeting, and aging happens all too quickly.

I have also observed that there is more than one way to approach this challenge.  I notice that some surfers seem to glory in the experience, drinking deeply of the exhilaration, while frequently drinking deeply of the salt after a particularly impressive wipeout.  This does nothing to hinder their enthusiasm, nor does it frighten them away from tackling the next big one to come along.

These are the type I love to watch.  They seem equally oblivious to the show they are giving me as they are to the consequences of their risk-taking; the adventure is all about them and their pursuit of the great ride.

A higher percentage of surfers belong in another category.  I call them the drifters.  They may have told all their friends, 'I am going surfing today', but they are all talk and no show.  While sunning themselves like sea lions, they float on their boards for hours at a time, seemingly waiting for the perfect wave that, in their minds, must never come. 

What are they really waiting for?  Do they think they will become expert without taking a few chances?  Failure is part of the process.  Experimentation is the precursor to success.  A few good poundings are the price to be paid.

Maybe I am not one to talk.  I can never see myself venturing out into the surf that way.  Certainly I would fall into the latter category, hoping for a little sun on my face as the only reward for the day.

But I hope that as a metaphor for life, that I belong in the first group; that I am venturing into deeper, more challenging water, for that is where the true opportunities lie.  Youth is fleeting, in fact in my case, it has pretty much flown.  I am all too aware that life is short and the time for boldness is now.  It is time to grab my board and go head first into the pounding surf.  I may not successfully ride the first wave.  Nor the second one either.  But I still intend to keep on trying, clutching tightly to the hope of "The Big One".

If nothing else, I intend to recapture the joy of play.

Another lesson I have learned from the surfers?  Regardless of the number of successful rides, everyone gets thumped and bruised by the erratic, sneaky waves anyway.  So why not take a few risks?

I Nearly Missed a Rainbow

Years and years ago, I had a record album that I played on the portable record player in my bedroom.  It was a collection of music from Sesame Street.  Of course, "Rubber Ducky" was there, "Who are the People in Your Neighborhood" was there, and naturally, "It's Not Easy Being Green" was there.

But there was another song included that I don't think I ever heard sung on the television show, but it soon became one of my favorites.  I think the original Susan sang it; it was melodic, it was beautiful, it was meaningful to me. The song was called "Nearly Missed" and its message reminds us of the beautiful things we might miss if we fail to look up, to look around once in awhile.

During a recent trip to the coast, while enjoying a walk along the beach, I noticed a bunch of people with their backs to the ocean, all bent over and all intently studying the sand.  I can only make some broad assumptions that they were probably looking for something that would bring monetary rewards of some kind and they were indeed working hard.

My thoughts as I watched them turned to this song of my youth. Clearly they were so focussed on diligently making a living, on working hard, on being productive, that they were failing to notice the beauty of where they were.

Perhaps the real foolish one here was me.  What were they finding that had so much value, and why wasn't I with them seeking to cash in on the great find?

No.  I don't think so.  I had found the treasure I was looking for.  The coast is therapeutic to me.  Its raw beauty keeps me coming back for more.  The rhythm of the waves is hypnotic and the slower pace reminds me of the way I think God intended for us to live; to slow our heartrate down to meet His tempo; to find the inner peace that often gets pushed to the side, misplaced and forgotten in our rush, rush, rush everyday lives.

A trip to the coast isn't the only time to stop and look up occasionally.  I know in our own little corners of the world there is beauty to be had every day.  Sometimes just the contrast of a striking blue sky against the rooftops and the trees can be breathtaking. 

Work is important.  We should not be idle and expect others to attend to our needs.  But we can lift our noses from the grindstone occasionally.  I don't want you to miss the rainbows either.

While studying a brand new hole in my sneaker,

And finding a quarter and an old bus token,

I nearly missed a rainbow, I nearly missed a sunset,
 I nearly missed a shooting star going by....

As an aside, I looked this song up on Youtube (which always has everything, doesn't it?). Apparently in 1998 the song was dug up from the Sesame Street archives and redone as a hip-hop version with Rosie O'Donnell and Elmo. NOT the Same!! What a disappointment....

The Value of Constancy

Newness is exciting.  Surprises are fun.  A change of pace can be thrilling.

But I have come to find great value in the things that stay the same; things that I can rely on to always greet me the same way.  I have also learned that the most comforting are not the predictably stagnant things, in fact they are not things at all.  We expect inanimate objects to remain unchanged, but can we say the same thing about people? or nature? or relationships?

This morning I awoke to the comforting song of the ocean.  Its constancy is very satisfying, very reassuring.  It may not always remain the same intensity, or the same color, or the same tide level.  BUT, it is always there.  I know that it is never going away.  And the peace that brings is remarkable.

I am thankful for the other constants in my life.  Perhaps that is the true test of value:  those in our lives that we can always count on.  Perhaps the intensity changes but knowing they are always there can be a great comfort.

Finding Joy

 

This is my way of finding joy on this trip.  Miranda went for a photo walk and gave me the SD card when she returned.  It may not be firsthand, but I love seeing the beach from her point of view.  Thanks, Miranda, for sharing your joy.

All photo credits:  Miranda Haws

Sand, Sun, Sculpture?

What do you get when you have eight energetic young adults, a beautiful day, a shore full of open sand, and you throw in the incentive of a few prizes?  A really fun sand sculpture contest!  I was thrilled to see the effort and energy and teamwork as four teams tried to outdo each other in creating their ephemeral masterpieces.

The fun began as the teams began collaborating on ideas, tools, and strategies.  Working tirelessly, they began digging and hauling water and packing and carving and smoothing and finessing.

Then came the most difficult task:  judging and proclaiming the winners.

Erica and Derek's sandy iPod was a favorite all day long as beachcombers came exploring.  We noticed several people carefully changing the playlist to their own favorite.

Elders Curtis and Bruton dreamed of home and one of their favorite places to be, replicating the Cougar Stadium at BYU where Elder Curtis played before his mission.  I don't think there were many cougar fans at the beach yesterday.  As some passersby had changed the iPod song, others changed the university.  Sorry, guys.

Carefully laying a firm foundation, it took awhile for Robert and Josalyn's masterpiece to emerge.

A big "thumbs up" for their final creation!  We noticed many photos being taken by others during the day of this fun sculpture, all striking the same pose.

Giving a nod to that timeless classic, Miranda and Alexis carved out the Sphinx.  Their careful attention to detail attracted a lot of attention, as well as being a magnet for many photos.  Many people straddled the familiar lion's body to capture the memory.

Little remains after the inevitable ebb and flow of nature's tides.  From my perch atop the nearby cliff, all that can be seen is a modified thumbs up; it too is slowly melting into certain oblivion.  Not to be forgotten though are the fun and laughter of a beautiful Labor Day at the beach, shared with family and friends.  Thank heaven for cameras.